The Weekend Quartet
by clueless in seattle
Summary: Four stories set over one weekend of the sort of thing happens to Bobby and Alex when they are not catching crooks. First published 07....now brought together.
1. IntroductionExplanation

_**Friday 18**__**th**__** January 2008**_

Hi there! 

_It's a little early for "Spring Cleaning" but I thought I would make a start…by clearing out and tidying up some of my stories cluttering up the __**L & O: CI**__ pages._

_So the four chapters of __**"THE WEEKEND QUARTET"**__ which follow are not "new" stories…just four old ones grouped together._

Saturday Afternoon/Saturday Night/Sunday Morning/ Sunday Evening.

_I will probably do this with some others in the next couple of weeks._

_Sorry if that ticks some people off or has caused confusion but I wanted to "prune" the list and without deleting what I know are favourites for some readers._

Thanks and Best Wishes

**Clueless In Seattle**

_**PS.**__The four stories take place over the same weekend. _


	2. Saturday Afternoon

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…nor do I think one sneeze is a sure sign you got the bubonic plague)_

_**I've often wondered what our two favourite detectives get up to at the weekends…**_

**SATURDAY AFTERNOON**

"Eames?" Bobby's voice on the phone had that quality to it his partner knew very well. That slightly hesitant and nervous tone that he never had when they were at work.

"Yes Bobby" she said quietly hoping perhaps this was occasion he'd tipped a gallon bucket of chocolate ice cream all over himself and needed her help to clean up

"I…um…I have a slight…er…a bit of a problem. Do you think…if it's not…um too much…trouble…you could come over?"

"Does this involve you being naked and chocolate ice cream by any chance?" she asked quickly and without thinking

"Excuse me?" Bobby sputtered on the other end of the line

"Oh…er…sorry Bobby…not you" she lied "I've got a girlfriend here…um…we are doing a quiz in this months _"Cosmo"_. I was speaking to her"

Eames crossed her fingers she had gotten away with that one.

"I see…um…well sorry to disturb you" Bobby said. "I'll maybe give…um…someone else a ring"

"No don't do that" Eames said loudly and quickly. "She's just leaving. I'll be there in twenty minutes"

She set aside the fifth draft of the wedding gift list was something else Bobby didn't know about and hurried to comb her hair and find her car keys.

When Bobby opened the door he was fully dressed which put sort of a dampener on any remaining hopes Eames might have but still acting rather oddly. For some reason he was keeping his left hand behind his back as he shut the door and gestured her into the kitchen. He sat down at the table his right hand resting on it and his left beneath so she couldn't see it.

_Perhaps it was an early and surprise gift for her birthday next week? The sort came in a small velvet box, intended to be worn on a finger of the left hand and rather more "romantic" than the full set of plumbing tools and an instruction manual he got her last year_?

"So what it Bobby?" she asked gently

"Promise you won't laugh?" he muttered fidgeting about in his chair

"I swear Bobby" she breathed sitting down opposite him "I won't make fun of you…there's nothing you could do or show me that would…"

Eames realised her imagination was running away with her as she quickly said in a more business like manner. "So what is it?"

"This" Bobby lifted his left hand from under the table

"Aargh!!" Eames screamed briefly at what looked like some huge and hideous deformity appeared to have consumed Bobby's hand. It would make more things than ever getting a ring on it impossible for the future.

As he put it on the table Eames stared at the china model of a Holstein cow where Bobby's hand used to be. It looked like he was performing a procedure of an obstetric kind on a miniature bovine better left to a qualified vet.

"You got your hand stuck in the cookie jar" Eames said stating the obvious. "That vile joke cookie jar your so called friends you sit behind home plate with got you last Christmas"

"You noticed huh?" Bobby muttered in a tone it was hard for her to work out. "I was giving it a good wash out…and…um well…you see the problem"

"I guess that's a more likely explanation than trying to deliver a bull calf" Eames growled. "I always hated that thing. It's disgusting"

"Stops you ever having any chocolate chip cookies with your coffee though doesn't it?" Bobby said recovering some of his equilibrium and starting to play clever .

"Maybe _"Weight Watchers"_ should start retailing them?" he ."Halve the nations obesity problem overnight?"

"At the risk of a milk products cliché Bobby" Eames gestured to the icebox. "Have you tried butter? Like I used when you got your head stuck in the railings at Central Park that time?"

"I was trying to get a better look at a crime scene and you know it Eames" he retorted his face flushing the colour of bright red his ears had gone trying to wrench his head free. "And I was bothered by wasps the rest of the morning because of the butter"

"It worked though" Eames shrugged "So did you try it?"

"Yes and as soon as my hand is free I shall be taking this shirt to the dry cleaners" he said sulkily. "Same as I had to the last time"

"What did we do the time your right hand got stuck in that sewer pipe trying grab the left luggage locker key?" Eames mused. "The one where that guy left the body of his wife in six pieces of matching_ Gucci_ luggage?"

"We didn't" muttered Bobby. "That was Ladder Crew 46 and a set of bolt cutters. You only drove me to the hospital for the shots after the rat bites made my hand swell the size of a small overnight bag in the first place"

"Oh yes" Eames murmured remembering how Bobby insisted she take a train to Pittsburgh before he'd drop his pants so the doctor could give him the tetanus and Weil's Disease and anti-rabies injections.

That hadn't worked out so well as it might have looked at one stage. Though they did track down the husband still in possession of the chain saw.

Eames nodded towards the freezer "What about ice? That worked when you got your foot stuck down that drain on 77th Bobby"

"None of that was my fault" he snapped. "It was negligence of the part of the City Engineers to leave the cover off and there's nothing I can do about the size of my feet"

"Fortunately not" she murmured barely managing to stop herself winking and leering at Bobby. "I mean…of course not. Have you tried sort of scrunching your fingers together and a twist action?"

"Of course I have" he muttered. "All that did was give me cramp and I think I broke a knuckle"

Eames stood up "I guess there's only one thing for it"

She went to the sink behind him, pulled out a wrench she knew Bobby kept under there and brought it down heavily on the offensive cookie jar cracking it into a dozen pieces.

"Aaaargh!" Bobby screamed leaping from his seat "Oh shit…oh no…oh look what you did!!"

"I'm sure your buddies can get you another _"Clara The Cow Crude Comedy Cookie Jar"_ Bobby" she muttered.

Bobby had his left hand shoved under his right armpit "I'll ask them to get me six new bones for my left hand while they are about it" he winced. "Did you have to hit it so hard?"

"Oh I'm so sorry Bobby" said Eames taking a step forward.

"Don't come anywhere near me with that wrench in your hand" yelped Bobby backing into a corner of the kitchen

She put it back under the sink and turned to see Bobby opening a drawer "I thought you kept the coffee filters over here?" she hinted heavily

"I do" he replied. " But I keep the glue in here"

H pulled out a large tube and peered at the instructions "Sets in five minutes. Suitable for wood, plastic, leather…oh here we are…china"

Eames glowered silently and decided it was time she left. Bobby thanking her absent-mindedly as he set about fixing _"Clara"_ and she managing not to slam the door too loud.

As she drove home Eames concluded there was perhaps an _"upside"_to this after all. With his propensity to get parts of his anatomy stuck inside objects Bobby was fast running out of parts of his body he hadn't yet needed her help to extricate from something or other. She stopped at the store on her way home and got a half gallon carton of the finest chocolate ice cream might very well come in useful some day…it was only a matter of time surely…

_**AN**__ I'm undecided how I shall resolve the problem the day Bobby gets that part of him stuck…or what exactly he will get it stuck in… I am, of course, referring to the index finger of his right hand…mwahahahaha._

_**"The Weekend Quartet" continues in Chapters 3, 4 and 5….**_


	3. Saturday Night

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and no I don't think it's necessary for you to go to the ER for a paper cut…)_

_**Let's face it …we've all wondered what Bobby gets up to…**_

**SATURDAY NIGHT**

Bobby Goren was uncomfortable and self-conscious. This really wasn't the nicest area of town and the word _"seedy"_ should be reserved for sesame bagels. It was gone midnight as he turned his car at the corner and cruised slowly down the street lined with strip clubs whose neon lights flashed all manner of promises about what might be seen inside.

Small groups of men, probably in the city at some convention and miles from their wives, the PTA, Labradors and mowing the yard on Sundays were studying the boards outside. More than life-sized pictures of positively pneumatic breasts and some of them being embraced by snakes whose species Bobby could probably identify. Except he wasn't here for a herpetology field trip.

Bobby hated that he was here at all and that part of him, that side of his character that brought him here. That inner weakness he'd been unable to resist sat home alone on a Saturday night when half the population was probably out having a good time. If not at strip joints, basement bars and the sort of clubs of catered to the kind of tastes made any of his urges seem _"meat and potatoes"_. He'd wished he could stop himself all the time he was reaching for his jacket and car keys. Willing himself to not give into it this time.

He slowed the car even more on the corner to get a better look. At the girl in the short black PVC skirt, a fake fur jacket and wearing five-inch heels. But when their eyes met and she tottered over to the passenger side to lean in the window he knew she was not the one he wanted. Not least because the deep husky voice, the view down the t- shirt like the top of an ironing board and a bulge in the skirt wasn't a set of house keys told him _"she"_ was a _"he"_. As Bobby muttered his apology the pout suggested business wasn't maybe so good this evening. And the over enthusiastic use of collagen perhaps did come in useful in a professional sense.

As he slowed at the next break in the kerb by an alleyway there was a girl with a rather nice ass bent over a bench putting something in her bag. Made Bobby feel sick when he realised the face under the make up was young enough to be his daughter. Wouldn't need to have waved him off as he pulled the car away. And neither would her equally young looking friend emerging from behind a dumpster with a man. Nor did Bobby imagine for one moment they had been there disposing of trash.

The flashing neon of the signs blinking kept lighting up his bruised left hand on the wheel in red, blue and green as Bobby cruised down the street stopping now and then to look at the girls. Many of them in small groups as he turned at the end to check out the other side. This was what happened he supposed when you were single, not seeing anyone and hadn't had a date Saturday night for some time.

Under the streetlight two along he found what he was looking for. Not too tall in a white skirt little bigger than a belt, in gold strappy sandals and with a multi coloured sequinned butterfly covered most of the front of her t shirt. She was talking to two or three other women stood in a doorway. Bobby stopped the car and let down the passenger window.

"Fifty?" he asked as she leaned in

The woman paused a moment before nodding, taking the bills he drew from his pocket and handing them to one of her friends. She came back to the car and slid in beside him.

Bobby hit the gas pedal hard as she was still reaching for her seat belt, which pushed her back harder into the leather than he was ever going to before he dropped her off. Damn Eames for forgetting her wallet the night one of her old pals from the Vice Squad was having her_"bachelorette party"_. Damn her for calling him to come get her, settle her bar bill and damn her for doing it the night his VCR was in for repair and_"Heimat"_ showing on the movie channel.

_**"The Weekend Quartet" continues in Chapters 4 & 5…**_


	4. Sunday Morning

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…the question is you may know what onomatopoeia is as well but can you spell it?)_

_**After his late night out Bobby just wants to stay in bed a little longer…**_

**SUNDAY MORNING**

"Mmmmm" Bobby Goren wriggled his shoulders, content to stay in bed a little longer on a Sunday morning and enjoy one of the other pleasures of a _"lie in"_. One he was just starting to really enjoy when his cell phone on the nightstand rang.

"Damn" he hissed hoping this wasn't work. A little clumsy and awkward, he almost knocked the light off he forgot was there, and grabbed it.

"Goren" he muttered, suppressing a soft moan as he spoke

"Morning Bobby" said a remarkably cheerful female voice

"Eames" he yelped, instinctively clutching some of the covers back over him. "What do you want?"

"To say thank you for last night of course" she replied as he began to relax again a little more. At least he wasn't going to be dragged away by work.

"You're welcome" he sighed, remembering after some rapid thinking, the socially correct response

"I'm sorry about forgetting my wallet and you having to come get me and…"

Bobby stretched out his hand with the cell phone in to arm's length, arched his back to stretch the muscles and purred a little. Somewhere in the distance his partner's voice in a somewhat metallic sounding tone continued non-stop for maybe five minutes. Telling him all about how she came to leave her wallet at home the night of a friend's_"bachelorette party"_. At a doubtful club in an even more doubtful part of town and how none of them had enough money between them for her cab fare. And, he guessed anyway, several other things she'd told him as he drove her home around one. Things she must think him highly forgetful to have forgotten so soon. Things he didn't much want to hear at the time. Even less so again and right now.

He sighed and wriggled a little again just as his brain registered the louder, more insistent tones from the phone of _"Bobby! Bobby! Are you still there?"_

"Yeah?" he stifled a groan as he returned the phone to his ear

"I said why aren't you home?" asked his partner

Bobby took a deep breath but still said rather breathlessly. "I'm out jogging"

"I'll be round in twenty minutes to give you back the money you loaned me" said Eames

"No!" he yelped, "I meant to say I've been jogging. I'm on my way over to my friend Hank's place right now"

"I see" came the voice on the other end.

In that tone of unconvinced scepticism she used so well when they were at work and occasionally on him. The sort made Bobby very uncomfortable even when what he was mostly feeling was great.

"Best if I let you go then"

"If you would" he bit off a sigh of more than relief. "See you tomorrow"

"Be good Bobby" came one of her usual conclusions to conversation

Bobby shut the phone off.

"I'll do my best" he groaned, letting it slide from his fingers onto the floor and easing back the covers again before Penny suffocated down there.

"You done?" she asked

"Does it look like it?" he asked with a grin drawing the brunette into his arms. "We'll go take a can of gas to your car later"

"How much later?" she teased him shifting position on top of him

"Keep doing that…mmm…and especially that…and it won't be long" he sighed softly thinking maybe he should thank Eames after all.

If it were not for her he'd never have been anywhere near the place where Penny's SUV with it's broken fuel gauge ran out of gas. And what cop leaves a lone and attractive young woman that time of night, stuck in a bad part of town?

_**"The Weekend Quartet" concludes in Chapter 5…**_


	5. Sunday Evening

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and I also know that keep scratching it only makes things worse…trust you to wait until your age to get chicken pox)_

_**The weekend draws to a close for Bobby…**_

**SUNDAY EVENING**

Bobby Goren opened the door of the confessional box, stepped in and sat down. When his boyhood friend Pat Delaney explained the problem of thefts from the gift boxes at St Jude's the local precinct hadn't felt justified much time, of course he'd offered to help.

It had been many years since Bobby was last in one of these and it suddenly seemed a lot smaller than he remembered. But it offered a good view out across the church and Father Pat, as he was these days, said a lot of the thefts occurred on Sunday evenings after Mass.

Bobby struggled a little to shut the door and of course having size 13 feet didn't help. _Perhaps priests all had small/average feet to not have the same problem?_

After about half an hour on the hard seat and some wriggling around, Bobby was fast concluding perhaps they had small/average other parts of the anatomy as well. _It might help in more ways than one if you thought about it?_ And that maybe the thief wasn't coming tonight after all.

All he'd seen were a few innocent and devout looking parishioners and a group of altar boys furtively exchanging items behind the font. The same location and probably the same sort of items he'd exchanged furtively, when he was briefly one in the past.

Of course age and experience meant it took rather more than well-worn copies of _"Playboy"_ to do much for him these days. Though if the boys were still passing round copies of June and July 1970 they must be worn almost transparent by now. _And if he recalled right it was Pat got hold of those in the first place?_

Bobby was slightly fighting the urge to sleep after a day worked out in the early hours rather better than he had expected, when a sudden noise startled him. The sound of the door opening and then closing the other side of the confessional.

His sudden intake of breath not because he was about to snore, but because he must have forgotten to put up the _"engaged sign"_ or switch on the light or however it was people knew the thing was occupied. Bobby couldn't remember it had been so long since his last confession…though that phrase had an oddly familiar ring to it he couldn't quite place in his moments of mild panic. _Was it illegal to impersonate a priest however inadvertently?_

_Perhaps it was just one of the mucky-minded pubescent altar boys come to confess?_ In which case, and if it was July 1970 he'd been looking at, Bobby could guess the nature of the sin about to unfold. He'd committed the same, several times, but had the brains to keep quiet and not tell Father O'Malley about it. It wasn't the act of contrition following him being foolishly honest about June 1970 that had been the problem. But the priest had scared him silly about the probable loss of his sight and his hearing as a long-term consequence. What Bobby didn't understand then or now, was why it wasn't your sense of touch you lost for doing that. _It was the most obvious sense to be deprived of and a permanent cure when you thought about it._

As a soft female voice said _"Bless me Father for I have sinned"_ Bobby sighed a silent sigh of relief. Not because it wasn't one of the altar boys, so much as the sudden fear maybe it was Pat himself forgot he was in here. Then he remembered that on the next block was the _Convent of the Sacred Heart. _After the weekend he had he really, really, did not wish to know the transgressions of Mother Superior, thank you.

With his failure to respond, the soft female voice repeated the words again and Bobby knew he should really say something. _"We're closed until Monday morning at ten am"_ or perhaps _"This is St Jude's automated service. Please confess after the tone"_ in the best synthetic voice he could manage. Instead, fearing it could be Mother Superior and she'd recognise his voice even after 30 years, he put his handkerchief over his mouth and mumbled _"How long…er…when did you last…er…has it been a long time…"_

Luckily for him the person the far side of the screen seemed to understand and say in a more normal tone she had come to confess to carnal thoughts. That, at least, was one relief since it wasn't Mother Superior but the voice had a strangely familiar ring to it for Bobby. As the youngish sounding woman began to talk at high speed about her obsession for what Bobby gathered was one of her co-workers.

A situation as one obsessed over himself, had Bobby planning to hand down sufficient atonement would keep the young lady here until they opened for business again Monday morning. And maybe through until Lent. Except taking out his revenge on Eames _"second hand"_ would be cruel and unkind on the poor driven creature had stopped to sniff and blow her nose.

But his sympathy began to wane as she gathered her composure and as Bobby began to realise he did know that voice. Especially the way she said _"naked"_ and _"chocolate ice cream"_. It was at that point and really, really, really, really not wanting to hear more that Bobby crept out of the confessional box and closed the door.

Eames had got to something about a _"log fire and a bearskin rug in front of it"_ and aside from the fact they had to work together next day Bobby needed to be able get a decent night's sleep. Not one interrupted by disturbing nightmares about chocolate bears, melting rugs and him throwing Eames on the fire as the only way to be sure of keeping his clothes on.

Size 13 feet enabled him to cover a lot of ground quickly to the rear of the church, though at the last minute Bobby couldn't totally resist temptation. He told Pat Delaney he was pretty sure the sneak thief was in the second confessional on the left. Before he stepped out into the evening air, trying hard not to smile just a little.

_**I think the smile was because Bobby rather enjoyed hearing the plans Alex was making for their future…or would if the ice cream was Cherry Garcia… **_


End file.
